Bleak Silver
by johnlockisreal
Summary: Sherlock and John have finally moved back in together after Reichenbach. But Sherlock realises that Sebastian Moran is after John, so he does all that he can so protect his John. Warning: Very very sad
1. Chapter 1

It had been 3 months since Sherlock was resurrected from beyond the grave, well, more or less had returned from Italy. He came back to me whilst I was enjoying a pleasant meal at Angelo's with my old army friend, Mike Stamford. I was startled at first, as one one would be. Sherlock was so casual, he waltzed into the restaurant and turned to face me, wearing his white shirt and suit, just like he used to. My eyes fixated on him, watching his eyes blink, his chest breathe in and out, every microscopic detail was observed by my eyes, trying to make sure this was not one of my recurring dreams. He starred back at me, with utter relief and guilt in his eyes. It wasn't until my mind had thrown me back into my body, did I realise what this man had done to me.

He left me, for three years. I watched him die, watched him kill himself. For the first year, I refused to believe he was dead, kept telling myself that Sherlock was alive and well, and that he would come back to me. But by the second year, I began to wonder if he was being genuine, that he really had died. Surly he wouldn't of left his only friend, the only person he could confinde to, and truly appreciated his presence. But I soon began to realise that Sherlock was not coming back, and that I had to move on.

I moved in with my sister Harry, there I didn't pay much attention to anyone. I spent most of my time flicking through the crime channel and seeing if I could solve any of the puzzles before the police could, but it was no use, I had rusted and my attention to details was lost. Harry constantly tried to get me out of the house, inviting me out to see family, go to parties, socialize. But I wasn't having any of it. For three years, I was alone. I had lost my soul mate, Sherlock brought adventure, excitement, emotion, to my life, amongst other feelings.

So after we exchanged an observation of each other, I made the first move. I punched him. My fist was throbbing, my knuckles were aching and white. Sherlock was taken back, stumbling into a couples table next to us. Angelo yelled at me, throwing his arms in the air, demanding an explanation, but I rugby tackled Sherlock to the ground, demanding an explanation between punches. Angelo pulled me off Sherlock before he was too battered to speak. With blood pouring out from his mouth and cuts, Angelo accompanied Sherlock over to the bathroom and did his best at addressing his wounds, and kicked me out.

I ran out the back door, kicking a rubbish bin on my way and punching the outer brick wall of the restaurant. It took me a moment but I eventually calmed down. I lent up against the wall before sliding down it's rough surface and crouching on the floor. I covered me face with my hands and cried into the palms of my hands. I could have stayed there for hours for all I knew, but after I calmed myself down and took a deep breath, Angelo joined me outside, telling me that Sherlock understood my actions and that he would really appreciate it if I would be willing to sit down and be civil and rekindle what had happened. I willingly agreed, so I went in to join my old flat mate.

Until the early hours of the morning, Sherlock and I sat down at a table and spoke. He told me how he survived the fall, that he'd been living in Italy for the past 3 years studying the affects of helium on different substances, and most importantly, how sorry he was for everything that he had put me through. He pleaded with me, asking for forgiveness, which after 2 months, I eventually blessed him with.

"Well dear, I'm really happy that you two boys are moving back into the flat" said Mrs. Hudsen with a smile. "It was awfully lonely without those gun shots at 2 in the morning".

"Yeah, I think that's the thing I missed most about him" I sarcastically pointed out, watching a little giggle escape from between Mrs. Hudsen's lips. Such a lovely woman. She went through a lot too but unlike me, she pulled through it.

I smiled warmly at her, before returning to the flat upstairs. The smell of chemicals and potions rushed to my nose from Sherlock's chemistry set in the kitchen. Due to his previous research in Italy, he was constantly conducting experiments in the kitchen, filling the flat with disgusting scents. I sighed and slumped into my old armchair, picking up the newspaper on the table beside me. Flicking through the paper, I noticed how isolated I have been through the past three years. I had missed everything, the election, the football, everything. For the first time, I realised that without Sherlock, I was nothing. Shaking my head, I continued to educate myself with the current affairs, examining every article and image. In the distance I could hear footsteps racing up the wooden stairs. "Sherlock probably left his scarf behind" I thought to myself, and I continued reading my paper, when I heard the door crash open, and Sherlock burst in.

The fear in his eyes was astonishing. Only once before had I ever seen Sherlock afraid. He looked at me, as if he would never see me again. And that terrified me, because I had seen that look before, standing in the street looking up to him on top of the roof of St Barts. I knew something was wrong instantly.

"Sherlock are you ok? You look like-" I began before Sherlock abruptly interrupted me.

"I'm fine, I'm fine! See! Nothing wrong with me!" gasped Sherlock, brushing me away as fast as he could. He was breathing heavily and swaying a little, having to hold onto the side of the table to keep his balance before he spoke again. "Let's pack" he added, looking at me straight in the eye.

"Wh- pack for what?" I stuttered, wanting to know what had brought on this sudden change of heart. What was wrong with Sherlock? I knew he was eccentric but not like this. I knew there was defiantly something very wrong.

"Bleak silver! We're going to bleak silver!" announced Sherlock. His arms had raised in the air as he rushed off into his room. I quickly followed after him and shouted after him from the hall way.

"Bleak silver, Sherlock your talking like a mad man! Have you drank one of your experiments? What's wrong with you!" I asked, concerned about my flat mates sanity. What was bleak silver? I was certain he had never mention such before. I considered taking him to the hospital to make sure there was nothing wrong, but I knew how much Sherlock despised hospitals, calling them "the sanctuary of men who enjoy nothing more than inflecting pain", completely forgetting that I was once a doctor.

Sherlock dragged a huge black suitcase over, lifting it and placing it in the centre of his bed. "Oh don't be like that John! You remember Bleak Silver right! I thought to myself this morning, we really need a holiday, you know, some time to connect, get away from here for a bit! Come on let's pack so we can leave in 5 minutes. You need to pack for at least a week." he advised. I continued to stare at him with my jaw dropped and eyebrows raised.

"Sherlock, I've got work in half an hour! I can't just go off on an adventure with you like that! It takes weeks to organise time off! We'll just have to put off this holiday to Bleak Silver for a little while. For now, you just sit down, I'll make you a cup of coffee." I pointed out, turning round to make my way over to the kitchen.

"No John stop!" cried Sherlock. I turned around to face him. I really didn't want to be dealing with him right now, I had to go to work and he was going to, yet again, make me late. "Please. We have to go." pleaded Sherlock. He was begging me. I knew there was more to this Bleak Silver than just a little holiday, something was wrong, and Sherlock knew the only way to solve the problem would be to escape to Bleak Silver for a week of so. My trust for him was being tested. I sighed and headed over to my room to gather up a few things. Whatever had made Sherlock this afraid and mad, had to be serious. I couldn't let him leave on his own.

After about 5 minutes, I headed downstairs to find Sherlock sitting in his armchair, wearing his coat and scarf, biting his thumb nail. His suitcase was beside him, ready to go.

"Right! There's a cab waiting for us outside. Let's go then!" proclaimed Sherlock, jumping out of his seat, picking up his suitcase and dragging me by my hand outside. I didn't resist. I could smell the fear on Sherlock, he was shaking, his skin was as white as snow. And as we raced down the stairs, for a second, I could swear I saw him shed a tear.


	2. Chapter 2

After about 15 minutes in the cab, Sherlock an I arrived at Euston station. The station was packed with all kinds of people, business men, families, tourists, travellers. Sherlock and I sat in silence in a café, I constantly tried to engage Sherlock in conversation, but he just sat there, sipping his coffee and staring out at the passers by. There was an announcement, I didn't pay much attention, but Sherlock leapt from his seat, grabbing my hand just as I was about to take a sip of my tea, insisting that it was out train.

We placed out enormous suitcases in the suitcase holders near the doors of the train before finding our seats on the train. The itchy material of the seat irritated my bare neck the whole way there. Again, the more I tried to engage in conversation, the more Sherlock pushed me away. In the end I gave up, accepted that Sherlock was just being an annoying child, and read my book. As the journey commenced, I could see Sherlock out of the corner of my eye, shifting himself constantly, continuing to bite his thumb, his knees shaking. Never before had I seen Sherlock this afraid, this scared. Sherlock had grown an astonishing habit of distancing himself from a situation close enough to observe the contents of it, but far enough to distance himself from any form of emotional attachment. He had obviously been affected in a extremely personal way.

The announcement spoke. "We will shortly be arriving in Baskerville"

Baskerville.

"This is our stop John" announced Sherlock, wrapping his scarf round his cold neck.

"Sherlock?" I cautiously asked, not wanting to agitate him any further. I couldn't bear seeing him like this, he had been reduced to a child, frightened and alone, and there was nothing I could do to help him except go along with it. Sherlock continued to ignore me.

"Sherlock, Why are we in Baskerville. I thought we were going to Bleak Silver." I asked, extremely confused at why Sherlock would ever want to visit this place ever again. Last time we went here, Sherlock was the victim of deceptive by his own mind, resulting in utter doubt. I would have thought this would be the last place he would ever want to go to, let alone, spend a holiday here.

"John" he said in an undertone. He pulled me close, his soft lips pressed up against my ear. "I'm sorry, I'll explain everything to you later. But right now, please, just go along with it". He swept away from me, dragging his suitcase from off the train and onto the station. I rushed to join him, pulling my suitcase along with him eagerly, not wanting to leave his side for a second.

Sherlock slammed open the door and threw his suitcase to the side. I watched him confused as he raced around the room, looking in all the nooks and cranny's, sliding his hand behind bookshelf's. He jumps up on chairs to search the top of the room, before throwing himself on the floor and checking under the bed. His eyebrow's were frowned, hands on his hips, he contemplated the room for a moment, which was proceeded by him rushing into the bath room. I sighed and closed the door behind me. The room was a pale yellow, very plain and simple. There was an old television in the corner of the room, along with a book shelf full to the brim of worn out, second-handed books that had obviously been there for years. However the room smelt divine, the scent of pine cone and country side filled the room. From the bathroom, I could hear the sound of bottles being thrown to the floor as well as Sherlock muttering to himself under his breath. I chose to ignore the mad man's talk and made my way over to the bed.

"You know" I called to Sherlock. "You could of taken the liberty to have booked a room with two single beds! I don't know about you but I'm not really sure if we're in the stage of out relationship when we share a bed!". I smiled to myself, licking my lips. I perched my self on the edge of the bed, stroking the soft smooth yellow sheet. I threw myself backwards, my head landing on the soft bed. I lay there, with my eyes closed, taking in the fact that Sherlock and I had travelled for some unknown reason to Baskerville. I was about to dose off when Sherlock crept back into the room.

"No John. I need you close to me, we're sharing a bed." he said. His hands were perched on his hip, clenched tight, his knuckles had turned white. He started to sway ever so slightly and he continued to observe the room. "I've checked the room, I couldn't find anything."

"Sherlock, just slow down. You're going to fast." I began. I lent back up and sat up straight on the edge of the bed. "First of all, I would appreciate it, if we could go back downstairs and ask if they have a room with two single beds. Second of all, what were you checking the room for?" I asked. I couldn't take any more of this stupid little game of his. None of it all made sense, Sherlock was losing his mind. Sherlock sat down next to me, his eyes began to look worried again, and I knew he had something bad to say.

"John, you need to be with me. Please, don't leave my sight." He begged. He held my face in his hands, making sure I was giving him my full attention. His thumbs were slightly stroking the side of my face, comforting me.

"Yeah, sure, I'll stay with you, but you need to explain this all to me" I demanded, brushing his hands away from my face. Sherlock's head bowed down, as he ran his hand through his hair. His breathing was getting heavy and loud. "Look Sherlock" I said, moving his head to face me. "Please, just tell me what's going on". Sherlock studied my eyes, staring deep into my soul, before proceeding.

"Have you ever heard of a man called Sebastian Moran?" he worryingly asked. I was taken back.

"The assassin? Yes I've heard of him. Why?" I replied. I knew of this man, a silent assassin. No one could escape him once he had you in his sight. He was always in the news, nobody could ever catch him. He had been hired to kill celebrities, politicians, even royals. However, as much as the police tried, he never left a trace behind. Lestrade often spoke to me about cases he had been assigned which had obviously been committed by Sebastian Moran. Yes, I knew about him.

"He and Moriarty had a very close bond. They were soul mates. Sebastian and James would spend every waking hour with each other, they were inseparable. They worked together, lived together. But the one thing Sebastian Moran is known for, is revenge. It is his philosophy is life. You never cross him, or else it may just be the last thing you do. When Moriarty killed himself, Sebastian was distraught. He blamed me completely for his death, and my supposed death, to him, was the best possible outcome. For three years, we were safe. Sebastian was still mourning James for the majority of the three years, but he was moving on, slowly but surly. But now I have made an appearance. I have revealed myself, and that I faked my death. I'm afraid to say, but Sebastian knows that I am alive. He has kept tracks of your movement for the past three years, making sure I hadn't faked my death. I know now that I should of stayed away from you longer. That's the reason I couldn't tell you I was alive John, because if he knew I was alive, he would of come after us. And now he knows. And he believes in an eye for an eye. I killed the most important person to him, therefore his is going to kill the most important person to me, you.".

I felt as if the life had been drained out of me. The most notorious killer was after me, I was a sitting duck, my death was inevitable. There was no possible way I would be able to survive his wrath, no matter where I was, no matter how much protection I had been giving. I had to face the fact that any moment now, Sebastian Moran would kill me, in order to commit revenge in Moriarty's name. The blood was draining from my head, the room spinning around me at a thousand miles. I could see Sherlock shaking me, trying to get me to speak, to assure him that I was all right, but we both knew I wasn't. I could hardly breath. My death sentence had been carried out. I could hear Sherlock's voice from a mile away.

"John, I promise, you will not leave me. I will not let this man take you away from me." promised Sherlock. He cradled my head, rocking it gently. I was lying in his arms, knowing that as much as I wanted to believe Sherlock, I was a dead man.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sherlock and I had been in Baskerville for 4 days. For 4 days, we had done nothing but lounge in out hotel room. Sherlock even banned opening the curtains, in the fear that Sebastian Moran could find us. In the morning, we called room service to bring our breakfast outside our door, after about10 minutes, Sherlock would open the door at an acute angle and slither his hands out to bring me my cornflakes. I would sit at the table, readning one of the many books presented to us in the room whilst Sherlock watched me, scratching the skin around his thumb until it was raw. The rest of the day was spent reading, with Sherlock occasionally raising his head above his book in order to say something, and then continuing reading, as if he was stupid to have even thought to have said something. At night, we shared the double bed. I was initialy reluctant at sleeping in the same bed as my companion, but after seeing the fear in Sherlock's eye when I tried to move away from him in the night, I surrendered and allowed him to hold me.

It was a weird feeling, Sherlock's touch. It was like a baby who had never been held by his mother before, unsure of what to do. His cold, pale hands were riggid and stiff, but as the nights progressed, he relaxed, the tension evaporating from his hands, and he began to hold me properly. I felt safe and secure in his arms, and looking back, I wish I could have stayed in them much longer. But as soon as the sun rose, he would jump out of bed and beguin to read. I could tell he had not slept a wink. He was to occupied with the thought that Moran knew our whereabouts, yet he still stayed in the bed. I too, hardly slept. With the knowlage that Sebastian Moran, the most dangerous assassin the world has ever seen, was after me, I could not shake the nightmares.

On the first night of our stay, I swear I heard Sherlock cry.

On the third and final night of our stay, Sherlock and I spoke throughout the whole of the night, gossiping and chatting like a pair of school girls. We talked about our childhood, our education, our family and just life in general. I told him about how me and Harry had never spoken since her and Jenna divorced, and he told me about how him and Mycroft grew up as acquaintance, admitting that he didn't truly hate Mycroft, but he was never fond of him either. I think Sherlock was relieved to admit how he really felt, as a man who had never had any friends before, it must have been such a burdon to carry all the feelings he had since he was a youngster.

And then, the fourth day arrived. It makes me sick to the stomack to recap the events of that day.

Sherlock and I continued our daily routine, breakfast, followed by reading. However we were stopped by the sound of fire cackiling from outside our hotel. Sherlock, being Sherlock, rushed to the window to find out what was going on, and I joined him.

Outside, I could see that the field ajacent to our hotel was engulfed in a pit of flames. The smoke rise high in the air, it's thick, dark grey body floating high above the field. The red flames were centred in what appeared to be a circular shape in the middle of the field. I could see the locals despeartly trying to put out the flames with buckets of water. The water flew over the flames, quickly putting them out. Sherlock and I rushed down the stairs, completely forgetting that Moran could be spying on our every move, and headed towards the field.

Outside was much brighter than how I remembered, and much hotter too. Sherlock and I raced towards the field as fast as we could, eager to find out exactly what had happened. We dashed over the wooden fence that surrounded the field and headed over to the curious crowd of spectators. We pushed our way to the front of the crowd, pushing over plenty of people. As we reached the source of where the fire started, I could see Sherlock realising what was going on.

There was a black patch in the field of where the fire had been, the burnt smell of long grass rushed to my nose. I could see, in a perfect outline, that the fire was in the shape of a heart. My eyebrows dropped in confusion, as I tried to work out if this was a message or just a natural incident. However, Sherlock gave the answer away. He turned to face me, his eyes were bright pink. I could not tell if it was due to the heavy smoke, or if he had been crying. My companion grabbed hold of my arm and dragged me away from the scene. He pulled me over beside our hotel before dropping the bomb shell on me.

"He found us." Muttered Sherlock under his breath as he nervously peered around the town. I could feel my heat pounding in my throat, my legs were trembling and my head was spinning.

"Fou- wh- Sh- What do you mean Sherlock? How?" I demanded. The fear had completely infected my body from head to toe, every part of my was afraid, and I was defiantly showing it. Sherlock held onto my arms, gripping me tight.

"John, I swear, no one will ever hurt you. Do you understand? I don't know how he found you but I promised you didn't I, he won't take you away from me, no one will!". I could hear his voice trembel and he recited his promise to me. But as much as I trusted Sherlock, I knew there was nothing he could do to save me. As much as I wanted to believe him, and as much as I wanted to be with him, it was only a matter of time before I had a bullet between my eyes.

"Is he- do you." I paused to catch my thoughts. "Has he defiantly found me?" I asked, trying to hide the fear in my voice.

"John, I didn't want to scare you because I know how much this is to take in. We've only just reunited and I didn't want to make things any worse in our situation. But I found this earlier last week." he admitted. Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper before handing it to me. I opened it to find 8 words written clearly in the centre of the page.

I will burn the heart out of you.

My heart sank, and my hands threw the note back at Sherlock. I didn't want to believe it, but it all made sense now. Sherlock looked me straight in the eye, his deep green eyes engulfing me in their trap.

"That's why we had to leave. This note was left for me on my bed, Sebastian knew out whereabouts. He found a way to break into our flat. He could have easliy broken in and killed out. I knew we had to escape him. So I gathered up some members of my homless network to find out more. According to them, a man has been following you for the past three years. He has sat down in resturants on the table next to you, attented the same library as you do, even went as far as meeting up with your sister. Knowing that Sebastian was a man who lived by revenge, it was only a matter of time before he struck. So I came home and told you we were going to Bleak Silver, it's an anagram for Baskerville, hoped you would pick up on that but never mind. And now, there has been a heart burnt out in the field next to our hotel. It's too much of a coincident. We've got to leave now, go up stairs and-" Sherlock stopped.

Sherlock's eye gaze moved away from my eyes, and towards the houses behind me. I could see, in the reflection, a shimmer of light, as bright as the sun and as white as snow. I looked closer, and could see the faint out lines of the houses behind me, and looking deeper and closer, I could just about make out the figure of a man pointing a small dark object towards us.

Sherlock looked at me, with such sorrow and regret that I wanted to cry. His arms started to push me to the side, with a great force that I was unprepared for. The wind brushed past my fast, as I fell towards the ground. As I fell, I could hear a loud bang behind me, the sound of a gun fireing. I landed with a thumb on the hard cobble pavement. My head was throbbing and I could feel the blood trickiling down the side of my face steming from my nose. I turned my head to look back, and could see a man, tall and slim, in his mid 30's, lowering his pistol. He turned around and began to walk off, disapearing into the town. My breathing was heavy and my nose was in great pain, I swivled round to face Sherlock when I layed my eyes on the horror in front of me.

Blood was pouring like a waterfall out of Sherlock's chest, the red blood painting his white shirt scarlette. The blood began to trickle down the side of his shirt and onto the ground below us. His eyes were becoming dull and his breathing was un-natural. I picked up his head and held his upper body in my arms as I sat on the floor. I could hear the people around me screaming for an ambulance and help, their crys were nothing to me though, unlike them, I was aware that this was a fatal wound. Sherlock looked at me, a smile was showing ever so slightly on his parted lips.

"Joh- John I'm sorry, but I've broken my promise. Please forgive me" he begged. He lifted his hand with great effort to touch my face, his hand wiping the blood and tears off my face.

"No, Sherlock. Don't you dare. Don't you dare leave me. You can't break your promise. Please!" I cried, shaking his head. "Why? Why would you jump in front of a bullet for me! The world needs you! No one needs me!". I could taste my salty tears streaming down my face as I begged and begged for my friend to fight his fate. He laughed faintly at me, shaking his head.

"I need you John. Don't ever think, for one second, that you are unworthy of life" he muttered under his breath. I could feel his spirit leaving his body, his skin was turning as white as a sheet as the blood oozed out from the bullet hole.

"Don't leave me again. Please. I can't live without you." I begged. As I cradled him in my arms, I leaned down to kiss his dry cracked lips for just a second. I could feel the tension in his lips start to drift away as I proved my love to him. I stroked his soft brown hair with my thumb. " Please don't go" I whispered. He looked at me one last time, eyes drooping and head rolling back. I waited for a response but nothing. I wondered to myself, why isn't he saying anything? He always has the last word, why isn't he speaking? I could see that his chest was no longer elevating, and his eyes were no longer flickering. It then hit me that there was no more Sherlock. No more experiments in the kitchen, no more violin playing at 4 in the morning, no more insults on behalf of my intelligence. And this time, Sherlock was never coming back, and I had to live with the guilt that I was destined to die at Baskerville, lying on the cobble stone pavement as Sherlock held me in his arms and not the other way round.


End file.
